To the Brink
by meteor9
Summary: Living as outlaws is beginning to grate on Gallows, Jet, Clive, and Virginia. How long until someone snaps, and a nightmare unfolds? The Shaman and the Sample have spoken. What about the Scholar?
1. The Shaman

**_Note_**

**_I started working on this idea at some point last year, and I've been meaning to keep it going. For now, though, this is all I have. Hopefully, submitting it will get me in the mood to keep working on it. _**

**_As usual, I don't own Wild Arms 3 and all that._**

"Look, all I want is a bottle of whiskey."

"No, you're staying put. We're not gonna blow our cover to keep your drunk ass satisfied."

"Gah, you think I can't do something as simple as going to the damn store?"

"Yeah, I do think that. Now shut up."

"If you were anyone else I'd knock that sulky little head right off your shoulders."

"I'd like to see you try that." The kid laughed derisively, and then added, "Too bad I won't, with all these 'ifs' of yours."

The larger man growled at that, and it was all he could to do to stop himself from bashing his compatriot's face into the wall. But he had to take the higher path. _Don't drop down to his level, Gallows. Don't say anything..._

He was sick of this. For seven months, he and the rest of the bunch had been running and hiding, adopting aliases and haphazard disguises, all in the name of avoiding the Ark of Destiny's lovely little bounty. Gallows knew that the reason they had been avoiding everything was so that no one would get hurt, but if this kept up, he wasn't too certain on how long he could stick to those beliefs.

It also didn't help that everyone around him seemed to think he was an idiot.

Clive and Virginia weren't obvious about it, of course. Insults just weren't part of their philosophies on life. But it was still obvious what they thought of him. He had never been asked for input on any of the team's plans in the past months, nor would they trust him with any task that didn't involve a meat shield.

With Jet, it was made painfully obvious. It's a wonder that the priest hadn't decked him a couple of times, by now. He always had a comment, always had a snide remark, always had some sort of joke.

"Fucking android," he muttered softly, not really loud enough for anyone to hear. Not that he really wanted the comment to have an audience. Granted, he didn't care if he pissed Jet off. Hell, he'd be glad to. But he definitely did not want the 'leader' to hear it. She was fiercely defensive of the punk, and the last thing he needed was another one of her rants on 'acceptance' and 'progress,' or whatever the hell the ideal of the day was.

Now there was an association that couldn't have been any more predictable. The sweet, naive, outgoing, spunky little kid, and the cold, silent, son of a bitch. And the worst part was that she actually believed she could change him. Well, he does talk more, but so far that has only shown how big of an asshole the kid could be.

He decided to stop stewing over the whole thing. The night would go by so much quicker if he would just go to sleep.

Being on edge, however, was severely hampering that plan. That's why he needed the whiskey.

It pained him to think that. He NEEDED whiskey to sleep. Having to rely on that shit for anything was bad enough, but for sleep? He couldn't rest without first dulling his senses, or worse, getting completely plastered?

_Another problem to add to the list_...

Thoughts of his senses rolled along until they came to the topic of Arcana. To be able to draw the powers of the planet's guardians into the physical plane required concentration, and to multiply its effects through extension demanded absolute focus. Certain peripheral functions of his mind, body, and soul had to deactivate to allow for no disruptions, and that needed just as much focus as the extension itself. To be able to accomplish this in the middle of a firefight demanded an incredible adrenaline rush, but even that really only allowed him to use this no more than three or four times per day.

He never really mentioned it, but after using this skill in a battle, he often felt like collapsing.

Lately, ever since his dependence on…_that shit_…had taken hold, he was having trouble tapping into his extension abilities. Even Arcana was starting to feel elusive, just out of reach for his sub-par functioning body.

_I'm losing my grip on the one thing that makes me seem any different in combat from anyone else. If that goes, who knows how much worse they'll treat me?_

This wasn't a matter of self-esteem issues, or self-confidence or what-have-you. He knew that he had a superior affinity with Filgaia and its protectors. He knew that he was powerful, himself. He was well aware of all the occasions where he had saved all of their lives thanks to his quick-thinking.

It's just that they weren't aware of it. Not anymore, at least.

Sometimes, when his mind wandered like this, he would chuckle at the pictures in his head. Pictures of what doom and gloom that could have befallen the team without his intervention. Often, he'd have to mentally slap himself for it, remembering that these were his friends and allies.

Today, however, he really didn't wind up too hard, and the slap barely registered as a tap. Luckily, it was still enough to remind him not to think such thoughts.


	2. The Sample

**A/N **

Well, here at long last is the continuation to the...rather unfinished first chapter. And keeping with the style of the story, lots of swearing here. Just so you know. Also, I must say that not allowing double spaces after a period/question mark/exclamation point is incredibly annoying. I want my proper grammar!

Also, I'm back!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"What?"

She didn't say anything in response, she just kept looking at him and walking closer.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"You're bleeding again."

He looked down at his chest and realized that, yes, he actually was bleeding. _That stupid wound just doesn't want to heal up, it seems. _It was a bit hard to see in the low light, coupled with the fact that it's a black shirt he was currently starting to soak, but yet somehow, Virginia had seen it. _Eyes like a goddamn hawk, that one. _

At any rate, she was still approaching him, fishing out some gauze strips from a small pouch on her belt. She, like everyone else on the team, had discarded her usual garb weeks ago, opting to dress in dull browns and greys in order to better blend into crowds and stay out of the sights of bounty hunters. However, she kept that same red ribbon in her hair, which unfortunately stood out rather well in contrast to her outfit. Why he was noticing this now was beyond him. Probably the blood loss. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm replacing your bandages. What'd you think?" She reached to pull his shirt up to check on the wound.

And abruptly, he slapped her hand aside. "Just give me the damn supplies, I can do it myself."

Seems he forgot how stubborn the woman could be. "Don't be goddamn baby about it, Jet. I'll need to tie it up in back after all. Exactly how were you planning on pulling that one off?"

She reached for him again, but this time he stood up and shoved her back. "I told you to back the fuck off!" He was confident that he was victorious, up until she hauled off and punched him in the face. He stumbled back towards the bed, and Virginia continued her advance. He would've gotten back up, or struck back, or anything, but...

He was afraid. A lot had changed over the past few months, and he knew what she was capable of now. And with his injuries, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot he could do anyway.

"You've got a lot of nerve, you piece of trash! Just who do you think you're dealing with?" She was bearing down on him, and he could tell she was furious. Well, the fear was sort of a giveaway, but, still. "I've done so much for you, you know. I've kept you alive this whole time. I know damn well Gallows would like nothing more than to see your guts spilling out into an alley somewhere, and I'm really the only thing stopping him from making it happen." She then jabbed him in the chest, right in the center of the bloodstain that was still growing. "And look at you! Like you could do anything to keep yourself alive!"

He was cringing. A world of pain was screaming through his mind, and with each pulse of blood it was only getting worse. Was she actually going to kill him?

She jabbed him again for good measure. "You're worthless by yourself. You need us. You need me. Now stop being an ass and let me help you." She went for his shirt again, and this time he offered no resistence.

"Sit up."

He did.

"Lift up your arms."

Again, he did. And she began to redress the wound, wiping up the excess blood in the process. She certainly wasn't too gentle about it, though.

"That...that fucking hurts," moaned the Sample, though probably foolishly.

"Good. You deserve it. Don't ever push me again." And with that, she finished up on his bandaging.

An hour later, Jet was still sitting on the bed, half naked as he had been during his redressing. Virginia had gone to take a shower before bed, a luxury that was only recently implemented into the world due to it's agonizingly slow regeneration. He could only hope that when she came back, he'd no longer be in trouble with the leader.

When she did return, she asked "Are you ready for bed?" before getting under the covers of the king-size bed.

He could only nod in return, and also got under the covers.

He was still afraid of her.


	3. The Scholar

He had left his room about an hour earlier, too frustrated with his roomate's snoring to be able to sleep. At first, he considered going out into the streets, but then he recalled that this particular innkeep locked his doors after eleven at night, and so checkout was not an option. So he had to go back into his room, past the lumber mill in the bed across from his, and out onto the balcony.

_A room with a view, hmm?_ He found it odd that his group had spent the extra gella to get a rather posh room as opposed to the standard, wallet-friendly economy rooms they usually would. However, it wasn't something to worry about. His teammates were still young, after all, and they deserved to experience some comforts every so often. Especially considering all they had done for the world.

Now that _was_something to worry about. He found it a travesty to have their world turn on them for having saved it. It was a mockery of their efforts to spend their days hunted like the demons they fought against, to protect those very same hunters. It was criminal, on the run from those who owed them so much.

Clive was not worried about himself. He did not consider himself old by any means, but rather, he had experienced a rather full life, especially for a drifter. He had traveled the world, befriending many. He had vanquished many a terrible beast that threatened others. He had learned many things and discovered countless secrets about the ancient history of his world. He had a loving wife to return home to. He had a bright young child to call him 'Daddy' and delight in hearing his tales. And he had fulfilled the wishes of his late master in more ways than one; He had found the immediate cause of Filgaia's rapid decay, and helped to set it back on a course of regeneration. At least, he assumed he had, based on the numerous, yet sparse, grasslands that began to spring up in otherwise dying regions. So all in all, he'd done well.

No, he was worried about his friends. Gallows was just beginning to experience his freedom. Jet had barely even begun to understand himself. And Virginia still wanted to help so many people. So the fact that all of this had to be put on hold for such a long time because of the valor of one man and the resulting confusion really bothered him.

_Hmm, my mind is wandering again. This always happens whenever I've been away from home for too long. _

Home. It had been six months since he had last seen his home, since he had last held his little girl, since he had last seen his beloved Catherine's face. What sort of punishment is this? Was Kaitlyn going to grow up without a father? How long would the Professor's investments hold out for his family? _How long until I lose touch with them?_

A sudden motion below caused him to recoil into a shadow almost instinctively. Creeping back forward, he observed an Arkist wandering the streets, not appearing to be on a patrol of sorts. If anything, he was heading somewhere, albeit without too much urgency.

_This is all their fault._

Without realizing, he quietly slipped back into his room to retrieve his Gungnir ARM. He checked it over quickly before deciding it was fit for action, and then slung the weapon over his shoulder. It was uncomfortable carrying it without the added support of his traditional overcoat, but he had to discard it long ago, and it would've been quite odd to be sleeping in such a thing anyway.

Sneaking back out onto the balcony, Clive made his way to the top of the inn, railings and window sills becoming makeshift steps under the sniper's feet. On the roof, he went prone and set up his shot. The Arkist was about halfway across town now, but for all intents and purposes he may as well have been three feet away. This sniper never misses.

_I am about to violate my leader's trust. But, if there is no more Ark, they can live again, can't they? I'll have to get rid of them one way or another, then._

His target approached a rather average looking house near the border of the village, unaware of how close to death he was. Just as Clive figured he had a clean shot, sudden winds began to come in from the east. Once he figured they wouldn't pass quickly enough, he began to adjust for the wind.

_Looking for a shortcut will lead you astray. But, waiting your life away is also a waste, isn't it? I have to do this._

Just then, the front door of the house opened, and a young boy walked out rubbing his eyes. Clive paused as this happened. He mouthed something to the Arkist, but the sniper could not make out what he was saying. Through his scope, Clive observed as his target scooped the boy up into a large hug, and then continued the conversation.

His shot was clear. The angle was perfect. And he did not fire.

He was shaking. His eyes widened as he realized what he was just about to do. How could he worry about leaving Kaitlyn without her father when he was ready and willing to deprive another child of theirs? And this man was no bounty hunter, either. He had done them no wrong, he was just an Arkist. All he wanted was a better life for all of Filgaia. That's exactly what the Maxwell gang had wanted, too. This man had done nothing, and was about to be excuted by a criminal just for being alive?

_Maybe I am a demon after all..._

Clive slipped back into his room, placed Gungnir back against the bookshelf, and then crawled back into his bed. He did not notice his roomate's intrusive breathing. He was too busy staring blankly at the ceiling, terrified of himself and how easily he had almost crossed such a drastic line.

* * *

A/N: Clive is tough. While I'd say these are all good stimuli to piss him off, I'm still not entirely sure if this is something he'd do, even with the passing of time. Either way, though...that other guy sure was lucky.


End file.
